


Quill Phase

by Batshit_Bogs



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: (it's Timkon), Alternate Universe - Wings, Blood and Injury, Hurt/Comfort, Kon has a fear of hurting people, Kon-El | Conner Kent Needs a Hug, Pre-Relationship, Protective Dick Grayson, Tim is way too casual about getting hurt, i mean...there's a lot of blood but it's a mild injury, i think it can be tagged as such, it's a match made in heaven, it's mild though, no beta we die like robins
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-22
Updated: 2021-02-22
Packaged: 2021-03-12 03:13:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,351
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29628216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Batshit_Bogs/pseuds/Batshit_Bogs
Summary: In all honesty, Tim has no idea how this happened. One minute he was toweling off after a much needed shower, and the next there was red soaking into his feathers and painting his hands.-Tim accidentally breaks a blood feather, and unfortunately, he needs help. Too bad that Dick and Bruce aren't available.
Relationships: Dick Grayson & Kon-El | Conner Kent, Tim Drake & Dick Grayson, Tim Drake & Kon-El | Conner Kent
Comments: 26
Kudos: 190





	Quill Phase

**Author's Note:**

> Ayyy, first posted wing fic! I already know this is gonna become a series - i love this au too much to drop it. I also don't want all of my worldbuilding to go to waste
> 
> If you're curious about how Tim's wings look, check [This](https://batshit-birds.tumblr.com/post/643805673333899264/quill-phase-batshitbogs-batman-all-media) out. If you're curious about Dick's, look [Here](https://batshit-birds.tumblr.com/post/642695540716486657/me-why-im-spending-an-ungodly-amount-of-time-i)
> 
> If you're curious as to why Kon, Bart, and Cassie aren't described with wings, it's because they don't have any! Metas and aliens (save the Thanagarians) don't get wing privileges 
> 
>   
> **CWs**  
>  _\- descriptions of blood_  
>  _\- descriptions of injury_  
>  _\- mentions of an impending panic attack_

In all honesty, Tim has no idea how this happened. One minute he was toweling off after a much needed shower, and the next there was red soaking into his feathers and painting his hands.

Tim blinks at the blood. Blinks again.

Oh.

_Shit._

He inhales sharply as he spreads his left wing out in front of the bathroom mirror. The patch of red is bright against his dusty orange feathers, and it’s growing at an alarming rate. Tim braces his hands against the edge of the sink and tries to calm his racing heart.

He broke a blood feather. He isn’t sure how, but it happened, and now he’s slowly bleeding out. Or not so slowly. To make things worse, _he can’t reach it._ The placement is just awkward enough that he can’t get a grip on the blood-slicked shaft. Trying to pluck it himself would only injure him further.

Help. Tim needs help. This wouldn’t be that big of the deal - this isn’t his first rodeo by a long shot - but Bruce, Dick, and Alfred are back in Gotham, and Tim isn’t sure if they can make it here in time. But it’s better to ask then to just sit here and bleed out, so he’ll give someone a call.

Where was his phone, again?

  * ⤘⤘⤘ -



Usually, when Bart passes by Tim’s room and hears shuffling around and hissed curses, he shrugs and continues on. It’s a normal occurrence that they’re all used to. But this particular kind of shuffling around seems kind of...panicked? Urgent, maybe.

Bart lightly knocks on the door and calls, “Tim? Are you okay?”

“Bart!” comes Tim’s muffled reply. “Have you seen my phone?”

“Uh...I’m pretty sure it’s on the kitchen counter.”

“Great. Can you get it for me?”

“Right now?”

“It’s an emergency.”

Bart huffs. “Why can’t you get it?”

“I just washed the dye out of my wings. C’mon, Bart. Please?”

Well...fine. Bart zips to the kitchen, snatches the phone from exactly where he thought it was, and is back at Tim’s door in a snap.

“Got it,” Bart chirps.

“Awesome, thanks.” Tim cracks the door open just enough to stick his arm through. Bart presses the phone into his bloody hand, and Tim retreats back into his room. 

Cool. Now Bart can go back to grabbing a snack and playing some - hold on a second.

Bloody?

Bart almost asks, but Tim is already muttering - presumably to someone on the phone. Whatever he’s saying is too quiet to make out. 

The blood is a little worrying. Bart hurries to the common room, where Kon and Cassie are lounging in the conversation pit. 

“Guys?” Bart says once he’s in front of them. 

Kon hums, but doesn’t look up from the comic book he’s staring through. Cassie pops a chip in her mouth and raises a questioning eyebrow. 

“Okay, so, I’m not sure, but I _think_ Tim is hurt, but I don’t know if he needs help or not,” Bart rambles, “I mean his hand was all bloody, and he seemed panicky I guess? That’s not normal for him, I think. I dunno, it was weird.”

Kon blinks and finally looks up, the disinterested glaze in his eyes quickly replaced with concern.

“Wait, what?” Cassie asks. “Tim is hurt?”

“Shh,” Kon shushes her. He tilts his head with his ‘listening face’ on. After a moment his eyes widen and he shoots to his feet, the comic book fluttering forgotten to the floor. “Shit. Bart’s right.”

Bart preens a little as Cassie gets up, too. They waste no time in hurrying to Tim’s room, and Bart only casts one longing look at the kitchen before following.

  * ⤘⤘⤘ -



Tim’s heartbeat is going _haywire._ It never goes this fast, even when a mission goes wrong and the team nearly gets killed. 

Suffice to say, Kon is doing some panicking himself. He restrains himself from busting down the door when they get to Tim’s room. 

“Tim?” Cassie calls before he can. “You good?”

“I…” Tim hesitates. “N-no, I’m not. I need...I think I need help.”

Kon is officially panicking. Tim never outright asks for help. He’s the king of _‘i’m fine’_ , so whatever is going on has to be super mega bad. 

“Do you want us to call someone?” Cassie asks further.

“I already did, but he won’t get here for a while. And I don’t...I probably don’t have that long.”

“What?” Kon presses a hand to the door, and feels for the lock with his TTK, just in case. “Buddy, what do you mean? What’s going on?”

Cassie steps closer to the door. “Can we help?”

“He said his wings are undyed,” Bart says.

Kon winces. He knows how sensitive Tim is about his wings - his whole true identity, actually. He only told the team his real first name a few months ago, and he refuses to share anything else. If his wings are undyed...he’d basically be giving the rest of his secret identity away if they see. 

“We don’t all need to come in,” Cassie continues. “If you only want one of us in there, that’s fine.”

There’s a few beats of worrying silence. Kon is getting antsy by the time Tim gives his answer, his voice almost too quiet to hear.

“Kon.” Then, louder, “Kon can come in.”

“Aw, man,” Bart whines, “I wanted to see.”

Cassie looks like she agrees, but she drags Bart away from the door anyway. She gives Kon a thumbs up once they’re safely down the hall. 

“Okay,” Kon says. He’s trying not to think about how he’s about to see Tim’s actual wing colors for the first time. Focus. Tim is hurt. He needs help. Now is not the time to get blushy or over excited over the fact that Kon is the one he asked for. “Can I come in?”

The door unlocks and swings open just enough to let Kon slip into the room. It’s a complete mess - more so than usual. It looks like a tornado blew through. The door clicks shut, and he turns around, opening his mouth to speak - any question he might have had dies on his tongue as he inhales softly.

Oh. _Wow._

Tim’s wings are the most beautiful shade of orange Kon has ever seen. They’re like leaves in the fall, or sunset on a Hawaiian beach. It’s a comforting, soothing color.

Kon’s next inhale is less soft. One of Tim’s wings is drenched in blood.

“Oh, shit,” he breathes, taking in the blood, Tim’s paler-than-usual complexion, and the way he’s awkwardly holding a towel to the bleeding wing.

“Don’t freak out,” Tim says quickly, holding out his free hand. “I need you to stay calm. This is time sensitive, and I need you to stay. Calm.”

“What happened?” Kon steps forward, and Tim’s wings flinch away from him.

“I broke a blood feather. I don’t know how it happened, but I can’t stop the bleeding on my own, and Nightwing won’t get here in time.”

“Okay. Okay.” Kon takes a deep breath and shoves his panic down. “What do you need me to do?”

“I need you to pull the feather out.”

Kon makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. “Are you sure you don’t want Cassie to do this?”

Listen. Kon desperately wants to help Tim. But he knows that pulling a feather hurts like hell, and he doesn’t - he _can’t_ hurt Tim. He won’t.

“Kon.” Tim closes the distance, puts his hand on his shoulder, and locks their gazes with piercing ice-chip eyes. “I don’t want Cassie to do this. Batman and Nightwing aren’t available, and you’re the next person in line that I trust with this. I’m trusting _you._ Not Cassie. Not Bart. _You.”_

The earnesty in his words is almost painful, and Kon relents. How could he say no? Tim just admitted that he trusts Kon pretty much as he trusts _Batman._

“Alright.” Kon forces himself to be braver than he feels. It works out in the field. It should work now. “Do I just need to pull it out?”

“There’s a few other steps.” Tim leads him to a first aid kit left open on the room’s single desk. “Right after you pull the feather, you need to pack some coagulant powder onto the wound, and then apply gauze and pressure. Got it?”

“Got it,” Kon confirms. He takes out the canister and scans the label, then picks up the large gauze pads. All that’s left is to calm the fuck down. He’s chill. Kon is totally chill. This is _fine._ It’s not like he’ll be _hurting_ Tim, he’s just causing him pain. 

_That’s the same fucking thing._

C’mon, Kon, this might save Tim’s life. He can do this! He can totally do this, and then he’ll go have a quiet breakdown in his room.

Kon turns around and tries not to grip the canister of coagulant too hard. Tim is laying on his back on the floor, with his injured wing spread out over a towel, and he’s rigid in a forced-calm sort of way. His heart rate has only sped up over the last few minutes - he’s clearly trying not to panic. Well, at least they’re in the same boat. Solidarity, or whatever.

“You okay?” Kon asks gently as he kneels by the outstretched wing, careful not to pin down any feathers. 

Tim’s wing shifts as he says, “I’m slowly bleeding out, so I guess I’m as good as I can be.”

He _is_ looking more pale than before, and that’s saying something. 

“You -” Tim’s voice wavers, and he takes a breath before trying again, “you’re gonna want to hold my wing down. I, uh, I might struggle. It’s gonna hurt worse if my wing jerks when you pull the feather.”

Kon hopes the nausea turning his stomach doesn’t show on his face. He nods robotically and reaches out, but hesitates over the curve of Tim’s wing. This is gonna suck so fucking much, but this is for Tim. Kon puts his hand down.

And...oh. Tim’s feathers are _soft._ So, so soft. His wing is strong, too - Kon can feel the tensed muscle under his palm. It’s, uh, it’s a feeling. He really needs to get his head in the game. 

“Kon,” Tim says firmly, but faintly, “pull it.”

Shit - he looks like he’s about to pass out. 

Kon puts a little more weight on the wing and reaches out to encase Tim in TTK. It’s not strong enough to restrain, though he keeps a firmer hold on Tim’s arms. Kon hopes it’s a comforting pressure.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs as Tim sighs and relaxes ever so slightly. 

The blood coating the snapped quill is disgustingly warm and slick as Kon wraps his hand around it. He almost lets go when Tim makes a small noise of pain and his wing twitches, but Kon manages to keep steady. 

“You’re sure about this?”

“Just pull the feather,” Tim mutters, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. 

Kon really wishes he doesn’t have to do this. “One…” He adjusts his hold to get a firmer grip. “Two…” He makes eye contact with Tim, and they share a nod. “Three!”

The feather is harder to pull out than Kon expected. It resists him at first, and Tim goes rigid as Kon pulls harder. It’s a terrible sensation - Tim’s wing trembles and tries to jerk out of Kon’s grip, forcing him to put even more weight on it. His eyes burn as the feather finally comes out and Tim muffles a pained yell between clenched teeth, his wing spasming. 

“I’m sorry,” Kon whispers, holding the wing down with both his hands and TTK. “I’m so sorry, Tim, I’m -”

“Fine,” Tim gasps as he rides out the pain. “It’s fine. Just...stop the bleeding.”

Kon rubs his cheek against his shoulder to try and wipe away the tears that escaped him. He grabs the canister with shaking hands, dumps some coagulant powder into a crimson-stained palm, and packs it onto the spot where the feather just was. He flinches at every pained sound Tim makes, at every twitch of his wing. Once the powder is applied, Kon grabs the gauze and presses it to the wound. 

Tim frowns as his eyelids flutter. “You can press harder - m’ not fragile.”

But consider - Kon really doesn’t want to fucking do that. He’s hurting his best friend enough. So why is he leaning more weight on it? Why is he practically kneeling on Tim’s feathers to press both hands to the gauze?

Maybe it’s because of how pale Tim is, or how he’s fighting to stay awake. He couldn’t have lost that much blood, but then again, Kon doesn’t know much about wings. After this he’s doing some major research.

“You’re okay,” Kon repeats like a mantra as he tries to stop the bleeding, and he isn’t sure if it’s for his own peace of mind or Tim’s. Hopefully he’s succeeding in staunching the wound. Kon can’t tell if the blood soaking the white material is fresh or if it was already on the feathers.

“I know I am,” Tim says after the sixth _‘you’re okay’_. His lips twitch in a weak smile. “I’ve got you here.” Kon almost feels better, but then Tim adds, “Plus, I’m used to this.”

“You’re _what?”_

“This isn’t my first broken blood feather, won’t be the last.” Tim blinks sluggishly. “It happens every once in a while.”

The noise that comes out of Kon is high with distress. “Dude. Tim. Buddy. That is _so_ not okay.”

Tim just hums and closes his eyes. Kon’s own heart rate skyrockets as he checks Tim’s, and he relaxes a little when he realizes Tim is just resting. Napping, actually. 

None of this is okay. Regularly almost bleeding out isn’t fucking normal! How can Tim be so flippant with wing injuries? Again, Kon doesn’t know much about wings, but he knows that this shit isn’t good. At all. Not to mention -

Kon tilts his head, his train of thought derailing as his super-hearing catches something. There’s an unusual amount of noise coming from downstairs. 

Someone just entered the Tower, and they do _not_ sound happy. 

The commotion is steadily heading towards Tim’s room. There’s a whole lot of yelling, both from Bart and Cassie, and someone else - Nightwing, most likely. It’d make sense. Tim called him here, though Kon thought he wouldn’t be here for quite a while.

Threat dismissed, Kon returns his attention to the most important matter at hand - Tim. His nap seems light, but Kon can tell that he’s taking a train straight to sleepytown. It doesn’t look like he’s in pain anymore, which is greater than great. His wing is completely relaxed under Kon’s hands.

Even _more_ importantly, he’s not dying anymore! Kon will have to get him some juice or something to get his energy levels back up, or look up what people eat to replenish their blood and make a snack. Tim might appreciate that. It’s the least Kon can do after hurting him. 

Kon is so lost in his thoughts that he doesn’t notice the hurricane of a person storming towards the room until the door slams open. He barely has time to turn around before there’s black and blue filling his vision and slamming him off of Tim.

“Don’t fucking touch him!” Nightwing snarls as he pins Kon to the ground, one hand fisted in his shirt while the other holds an escrima stick to Kon’s throat. The electricity crackles in his ear and dances across his impervious skin. The wings wavering over them block Kon’s vision of the room. They make Nightwing seem way bigger than he is and intimidating as _hell._

“Whoah, okay,” Kon gasps, fighting to stay calm. Anyone who says Nightwing is a chill, rational guy can fuck off. He is definitely _not_ chill in any sense of the word. “I don’t know what you’re thinking -”

“I’m thinking,” Nightwing says, his voice dripping with malice, “that I walked in to see you mutilating my little brother.”

The escrima presses closer, and Kon winces at the dull sparks of pain. “Okay...it’s definitely not what you’re thinking -”

“Oh? It isn’t?” Nightwing’s masked face goes from _‘enraged’_ to _‘you’re about to fucking die’_ . “Care to explain the blood everywhere? The mess? Or, hm, how about why my _brother_ is _dead_ on the floor?”

“He’s not dead!” Kon cries. 

“Wing,” Tim mumbles, barely audible even to Kon’s ears.

“Tim’s fine, he’s fine, okay? I would never - I couldn’t - just look -”

Nightwing lets out a wordless roar and pulls his fist back to, presumably, attempt to pummel Kon into a bloody pulp. The blow never lands - it’s stopped by a pale hand grabbing the curve of Nightwing’s wing. 

“Nightwing,” Tim snaps. “Stop.”

Nightwing whips around so fast that he nearly slaps Tim with his wing. “Tim?”

“Yeah, hi.” Tim slumps back down on his back and rubs a tired hand over his eyes. “Maybe think through things before attacking my best friend? C’mon, N, you’re a _detective_. Act like one.”

“Oh, god, Tim.” Nightwing breathes. He drops the escrima he was holding to Kon’s neck and leaves him like Nightwing forgot he was even there. Nightwing hops over Tim’s wing, drops to his knees, and pulls Tim into his lap. Tim huffs, but he lets Nightwing hold him close and fuss over him like a mother hen.

Kon is pretty sure this is his cue to leave. Right as he moves to get up and flee the scene, Nightwing’s gaze snaps to him and pins him to the spot.

“What happened?” Nightwing asks. Kon doesn’t appreciate how accusing his tone is. “Why were you hurting Tim?”

“He wasn’t, actually,” Tim mumbles, already passing back out. “He saved my life.”

“That’s kind of an exaggeration,” Kon says. It wasn’t _that_ bad.

Tim cracks an eye open to glare at him. “I would have bled out. If you hadn’t helped me, I’d literally be dead right now.”

Okay, so it _was_ that bad. Kon is definitely just lying to himself so that he doesn’t have a panic attack right now. And he will continue to believe it until he’s alone and in the clear to freak out. 

“He broke a blood feather,” Kon explains to Nightwing, if only so that Tim doesn’t have to. Is he even awake? 

“You what?” Nightwing hisses, flicking Tim’s forehead. “You didn’t think to add that important detail when you called me in a panic, asking me to book it to the Tower?”

Tim scrunches up his face - _adorable_ \- and attempts to smack Nightwing’s arm. He misses. “I was a little distracted.”

“No _shit,_ Timmy.”

“He was also probably delirious from blood loss,” Kon chips in.

“Not helping,” Tim deadpans. He raises an eyebrow at his brother. “How did you get here so fast? You were all the way across the country.”

“I took the batplane,” Nightwing says with a shrug.

“Huh.” Tim’s eyebrow creeps higher. “Bruce?”

Nightwing manages to look somewhat guilty. He chews on the inside of his cheek for a moment, then mumbles something.

“You left him _behind?_ ” Tim cries.

“He was taking too long, and I was panicking, okay? You were in trouble - I was already at the controls, so I figured I’d update him later!”

Kon decides that this is definitely not his conversation to be a part of, so he starts cleaning up. The powder canister goes back in the first aid kit along with the unused gauze pads. They probably don’t need any more - the bleeding seems to have stopped completely. Kon would go double check, but he doesn’t trust Nightwing not to bite his hand off if he tries to touch Tim. 

The towel Tim had his wing on has a huge patch of dark red saturating it. The carpet underneath is probably just as bad. Kon winces as he looks around - there’s blood everywhere. There’s a sparse trail of the stuff winding all around the room, mapping Tim’s path of movement. Half of the stuff in here has at least one droplet on it. Hopefully the carpet cleaner will be enough to get it all out. The broken feather shaft is in its own little puddle off to the side, and the blood is already browning. How did that much blood come out of - hold on...what did Tim say?

Kon turns back to Tim and Nightwing, and cuts off their squabbling with, “Bruce? Who’s Bruce?”

Tim looks confused for all of two seconds before his eyes go wide and his face drains of what little blood is left in his body. 

“Uh…” Nightwing hesitates for a long, damning moment. “No one.”

“Is that Batman’s real name?”

“No!” Tim yelps.

It’s Batman’s real name.

“Tim, did you seriously just - wait, have I been calling you Tim this whole time?” Nightwing inhales sharply. “Your mask. Your _wings_ -”

“It’s okay, Kon, Cassie, and Bart already know my first name and have seen me unmasked,” Tim says. “Did I not tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t! What the fuck!”

“They’re cool. They won’t spill our secrets, and it’s not like I gave them my last name. Plus, only Kon has seen my real plumage colors, and that’s for a reason.”

Nightwing narrows his lensed eyes at Kon. “You trust him?”

“Clearly,” Tim drawls, “with my life.”

Kon ignores the pleased little thrill that goes through him. 

“Alright.” Nightwing heaves a sigh. “He already knows B’s name, might as well out myself before you do it for me.”

“It was an _accident!”_

Nightwing flicks Tim again and continues, “I’m Dick.”

Kon manages to turn his snort into a cough. 

“No, no, go ahead and laugh, get it out of your system,” Nightwing - _Dick_ , ha - says, waving a hand. “Though, Conner…”

“Yeah?” Kon prides himself on how steady his voice is, even though he wants to laugh himself into next week. The great Nightwwing’s real name is Dick. _Dick._ Though it is cool that Kon now knows Robin’s, Nightwing’s, and Batman’s real name. He doubts half of the core Justice League knows that.

“Tell anyone our names and I will make you pay. We have kryptonite, and I know exactly how to cripple a man for life. Got it?”

Kon’s amusement drains away at the cold, menacing smile plastered on Nightwing’s (there’s no way Kon is calling him Dick) face. 

“Yep,” he squeaks, his mouth dry. “I hear you loud and clear, I’ll take your secrets to my grave if I have to.”

“You won’t have to,” Tim sighs. “Now can you two _please_ shut up and let me nap? I’m exhausted.”

“I bet,” Nightwing says, and clicks his tongue sympathetically. “But we gotta get all of this blood out of your feathers first.”

Tim groans. “Ah, come on, a little dried blood never hurt anyone.”

“Buddy, you look like a crime scene,” Kon snorts.

“And who’s fault is that?” Nightwing mutters, and Kon flinches.

“Mine,” Tim snaps immediately. He glares up at Nightwing. “I should’ve been more careful. Kon did everything he was supposed to, and minimized the damage. Get off of his back.”

Kon’s chest warms at Tim defending him. It does nothing to make him feel better about the situation as a whole, but it helps a little. He gives Tim a grateful smile, and gets a slow blink in return. 

“I can go get some water and a new towel,” Kon offers. There is nothing he wants more than to be helpful right now, if only to ease his conscience. Okay, and he _might_ be looking for an excuse to touch Tim’s ridiculously soft feathers again. Sue him.

“No,” Nightwing says. The way his wings are curved around Tim make it seem like he expects Tim to be attacked, or ripped away from him. “I’ll take it from here.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Sorry, Dick is in full overprotective big brother mode. I think he’ll bite you if you get too close - and I don’t want to keep you here too long. You’ve already done more than enough.”

“It’s fine,” Kon says with a somewhat forced smile. “Anything for my best friend.”

Though Kon’s smile is forced, Tim’s is genuine. “Really though, thank you. Don’t beat yourself up about it, okay? I’ll come by later so we can talk.”

As usual, Tim is seeing straight through Kon’s facade to what’s bothering him. Sometimes it’s freaky, but right now Kon couldn’t be more grateful. 

“You mean you’ll call, because you’re coming back to the cave,” Nightwing says.

Tim’s eye twitches, and this time when he tries to smack Nightwing, he succeeds. “B can come here. You can stay if you want, but I’m not leaving.”

Their stare off lasts for a full thirty seconds before Nightwing huffs and looks away.

“You can go home,” Kon says. “I’ll be fine -”

“Your hands are still shaking,” Tim points out.

Kon brings his hands together to rub at them. He hadn’t noticed. 

“Kon.” Tim’s eyes soften. “I’m staying. We’re gonna talk, play video games until three, and then wake everyone up with terrible karaoke to make waffles as a team. Okay?”

That...doesn’t sound terrible. Hopefully Kon’s breakdown will be over by the time Tim is ready to talk - he doesn’t want Tim to see that whole mess. The poor guy already has enough on his plate. But despite wanting to crawl into a dark corner and never coming out, Kon finds his smile becoming real.

“Okay,” He agrees. He picks his way over to the door, careful to avoid stepping on Tim’s feathers. He hesitates as he opens it, looks over his shoulder, and adds, “I’m glad you didn’t die, birdbrain.”

Tim snorts. “Thanks, jackass.”

They share one last grin, and Kon steps out the door. Right before he closes it, though, he pokes his head back inside. Once he’s pretty sure Nightwing is looking back at him, he says, “It’s nice to formally meet you, _Dick.”_

Tim’s laughter almost makes the whole experience worth it. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Dick sent the batplane back for Bruce, and got an earful when he got there. They had to be quiet about their argument though, as Tim was still resting. When Tim woke up, he found Kon mid-breakdown and helped him through it, and felt Guilt Supreme when Kon told him about his fear of hurting people. To make up for it, Tim does drag him into some video games, and by the time they wake everyone up with karaoke, Kon is feeling much better. 
> 
> Man I struggled with the dialogue on this one, but as they say, struggle makes ya stronger. & a big ty to Aviseagle on Tumblr for the fic title! 
> 
> As always, comments are greatly appreciated and literally help improve my writing, thanks for reading!
> 
> Ask me about my rat @ [Batshit-Birds](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/batshit-birds) on Tumblr


End file.
